


love is a gradual series of revelations

by raedear



Series: you had me at hello (fresh) [4]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Getting Together, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani and Nicky | Nicolò di Genova are in Love, Love, M/M, Nicky | Nicolò di Genova Loves Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, and, five realisations Nicky had about his relationship with joe, two in one lads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:15:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29561757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raedear/pseuds/raedear
Summary: Now, contrary to popular opinion (Nile), Nicky is very aware that his default facial expression is very intense. He’s also aware (thank you again, Nile) that he has significant resting weird vibes. He knows all these things, and he tries his best to mitigate them when he can. When said beautiful man opens his front door though, Nicky loses his grip on his self-control completely.A series of realisations on the part of one Nicolò di Genova regarding one Yusuf al-Kaysani
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: you had me at hello (fresh) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2166849
Comments: 46
Kudos: 297





	love is a gradual series of revelations

**Author's Note:**

> I can't even begin to explain why this verse won't leave my head. The title is a bastardisation of a Crazy Ex-Girlfriend quote.
> 
> Thank you [Tess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewalrus_said/pseuds/thewalrus_said) for glancing over this
> 
> Buon appetito

Nicky actually likes driving, is the thing. He finds it soothing, mostly. Certainly more soothing in Glasgow than in Rome, but that’s not hard. What he doesn’t like is interacting with odd strangers on their doorsteps. Mostly they’re fine, they sign his scanner and he goes on with his route with no issues. Sometimes though, he finds himself questioning why he puts himself through this every week. If it’s not someone opening their door fully in the nude, it’s someone else making him stand there while they open and inspect every part of their package, even though he explains that if anything _is_ wrong with it, there’s literally nothing he can do about it.

He’s on his 6th HelloFresh delivery of the day, actively wondering if the little boost to his funds every month is worth how annoying the giant boxes are to coordinate in his van, when he meets the most beautiful man in the world. 

Now, contrary to popular opinion ( _Nile_ ), Nicky is very aware that his default facial expression is very intense. He’s also aware (thank you again, _Nile_ ) that he has significant resting weird vibes. He knows all these things, and he tries his best to mitigate them when he can. When said beautiful man opens his front door though, Nicky loses his grip on his self-control completely. 

Mr. Joe al-Kaysani is _beautiful_ , in a way that shouldn’t be allowed, frankly. He’s blatantly just woke up; his lovely curls are smushed on one side of his head and wild on the other, and his doe-eyes are heavy-lidded with sleep. He blinks very, very slowly, and Nicky couldn’t explain what his face was doing in response if you paid him a million Euros. Whatever it is, it makes Mr. Joe al-Kaysani (leave parcel on doorstep if no answer) stand up a little straighter, revealing to an increasingly-flustered Nicky that not only is he just a _hair_ taller than him (Nicky would like to thank not only God, but also Jesus), but that he is also wearing the softest, most worn out t-shirt and pyjama bottoms imaginable. They’re covered in flecks of paint in every imaginable colour, and the t-shirt is so thin that Nicky can tell just how chilly Mr. Joe al-Kaysani is getting in the morning air. 

It takes Mr. Joe al-Kaysani starting to clear his throat only to break into a jaw-cracking yawn to snap Nicky out of his _ohnohe’slovely_ trance. Nicky takes a deep breath and, once Mr. Joe al-Kaysani has stopped yawning and has returned to blinking blearily at him, thrusts his HelloFresh box at him. Mr. Joe al-Kaysani takes it with a deeply confused frown, and holds it against his hip, obligingly reaching out to sign Nicky’s scanner when he offers it. 

The sun breaks through a part in the clouds just as Mr. Joe al-Kaysani looks down. He has freckles. He even has one on his ear. That is just desperately, _deeply_ unfair. Nicky loves freckles. He finds them charming to see and sweet spots to kiss. Mr. Joe al-Kaysani looks up through his lashes at him and smiles as he finishes signing his name. Nicky valiantly tries to avoid swallowing his own tongue and gives him as polite a smile and nod as he can manage before he spins on his heel and marches back to his van.

It would be the _height_ of creepiness to interact with Mr. Joe al-Kaysani in any other fashion than quickly and politely delivering his goods to him, (Nicky knows where he _lives_ for God’s sake) and so Nicky lets himself indulge in the memory of just how sweetly sleepy he looked there on his doorstep in his pyjamas for only a minute before he firmly shoves the memory aside and forgets everything about him. He can’t have him, and that’s fine. 

* * *

It’s not fine. 

Mr. Joe al-Kaysani shows up on his route again the following week, and Nicky spends the two hours it takes to get to his turn actively trying not to think about him. Not about his smile, or his freckles, or his cute bedhead, or his nipples. Nicky is a professional, and he is disciplined, and he is definitely not thinking about the point on Mr. Joe al-Kaysani’s jaw where his beard faded out.

He’s definitely thinking about it. God help him. 

Surely he can’t be that handsome? Some combination of fatigue and the sunshine must have made Nicky perceive him as prettier than he actually was. He’s going to see him this week (maybe! He might not even answer the door!) and he’s going to look entirely normal like any other vaguely handsome man with lovely curly hair, and Nicky will be over this little crush before he knows it. 

Mr. Joe al-Kaysani is somehow _better_ looking this time around. Nicky’s impressed, frankly. He’s wearing a short-sleeved v-neck shirt cut just low enough to show the tiniest hint of dark chest hair on an utterly perfect chest. Nicky can barely take that in however for the way his brain is shouting _armsarmsarms_ at him on a loop. 

Mr. Joe al-Kaysani takes his newest HelloFresh box from him with a grimace, and Nicky decides then and there that small talk isn’t creepy. He can get away with that, surely. 

‘Were your meals nice last week?’ Nicky asks quietly enough that Mr. Joe al-Kaysani— Joe, could ignore him if he wanted to and Nicky could chalk it up to not being heard for the sake of his pride. 

_Joe_ grins ruefully at him though, and sets his box aside in favour of rubbing the back of his neck bashfully.

‘I burnt the rice so badly I had to throw the pot away after.’ 

His voice is higher than Nicky expected, and melodic, and it almost distracts him completely from the reality of what he just said. 

‘You… had to throw the pot away?’ How do you burn rice that badly?

‘The recipe said boil it for ten minutes, then let it steam for ten minutes more,’ says Joe, slowly. ‘I missed the part that said “take it off the heat”.’ 

Ah. That’ll do it. 

‘Well,’ says Nicky, handing his scanner over for Joe’s signature. ‘You have learned now to read the whole recipe, yes?’ 

Joe huffs a laugh, handing the scanner back. 

‘I want to say yes, but I know myself too well. I feel like I should apologise to this box in advance for what I’m about to do it.’

Nicky smiles at him, and hopes he orders a third box, if only so he can find out how this one turned out. 

* * *

Nicky puts his hand in pocket to get his keys when he gets home from Joe’s house, and finds a slip of paper with a tiny comic version of his evening and Joe’s phone number. He presses the tips of his fingers to his mouth and tries to restrain his grin before it splits his face. 

He considers being cool and aloof for all of five minutes while he gets his shoes off and changes into comfier clothes, but by the time he’s settled on his couch, he’s already made the decision to text Joe immediately. He invited himself to Joe’s house only five hours before after all, Joe already knows he has no chill. He doesn't want to pretend. He wants Joe to know, the way he does, that they could be something great. At almost the same instant as he hits send, his phone buzzes in his hand.

_Hello, Joe. This is Nicky._

_Hey Nicky! Found your number c;_

_J_

And they’re off.

* * *

Nicky knows he loves Joe the morning after the first night Joe spends with him in his flat. 

His flat is a beautiful old tenement, all high ceilings and massive windows. It’s also absolutely freezing and impossible to heat. He likes it, it has character, and the cold doesn’t really bother him, but Joe’s house is always hot, and he still sleeps with a huge feather duvet. He stuck to Nicky’s back all night like a limpet and the tip of his nose was still chilly. Nicky slipped out of bed as soon as he woke up to fill a hot water bottle for him, and he tucked it in against Joe’s chest while he went back to the kitchen to get breakfast started for them. 

For a galley kitchen, it isn’t so bad. There’s a surprising amount of counter space and a good cooker. There’s also a big window at the end, above the sink, that catches every bit of light going all day long, and he likes to look out over the courtyards and back gardens of the other tenements in the block as he fills his moka pot in the mornings. 

He’s doing exactly that when he comes a hair’s breadth away from smashing his nice window. Utterly without preamble, possibly taking five years off Nicky’s life in the process, Joe sticks his freezing cold hands up Nicky’s shirt to rest like blocks on ice on his warm belly. Nicky keeps his grip on the reservoir of his moka pot purely by the grace of God, and manages to turn his immediate reaction of a shriek into a slightly strangled yelp. Joe doesn’t seem to notice either of these things, as he immediately tucks his equally chilly nose into the hollow at the hinge of Nicky’s jaw with a deep and soulful sigh. 

They’ve been together about a month now. Nicky’s seen sleepy morning Joe four times so far, not including the very first time he met him. Joe grumbles something utterly unintelligible into his neck and presses closer to his back. Nicky feels a swell of affection so bright and warm in his chest that he briefly thinks he could cry with it. Instead, he sets the reservoir down on the sideboard and lays his hands over Joe’s, feeling the chill of his fingers through the material of his t-shirt. 

‘Good morning, _tesoro_ ,’ he says, very quietly, unwilling to disturb the still of the morning any further. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘’m cold,’ says Joe, still pressed against his neck. His voice is a tired rumble, and Nicky feels it all the way down his spine. ‘Woke up alone, missed you.’

Nicky squeezes Joe’s hands, and tries not to laugh when Joe squeezes his stomach in response. 

‘I was only gone a moment,’ he can’t resist turning his head to see Joe from the corner of his eye. Joe squints at him from where he’s resting on his shoulder. ‘I was going to bring you coffee in bed, warm you up properly. I left you a hot water bottle.’

Joe scoffs and rubs his nose against Nicky’s shoulder.

‘That’s not the same. Not as comfy as you.’

It’s a compelling argument, Nicky has to admit. He turns slowly in Joe’s arms, telegraphing each movement. Joe’s hands come to rest on the small of his back, and Nicky wraps his arms around Joe’s neck, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. 

‘Can you bear it for ten minutes more, _tesoro_?’ Nicky hasn’t indulged himself in pet names so far, but now he finds them crowding the tip of his tongue. ‘We can have coffee in bed, it’ll be warm before you know it.’ 

Joe blinks his big soft cow eyes at him, pouting. 

‘If I must,’ he sighs, but he kisses Nicky’s neck achingly softly and squeezes him close before he steps away. ‘Be quick, _habibi_ , I miss you.’ 

Nicky finds himself pressing his hand to his chest when Joe steps away. He can’t look away from him until he steps through the doorway and out of Nicky’s sight. 

He loves that man, Nicky realises. It comes to him not like a lightning bolt, or anything that dramatic. Just with the same quiet reality of the sun rising above the horizon. The sun rises, he loves Joe. The sun will set, he will still love him. 

Nicky can’t stop smiling as he turns back to making their coffee. He doesn’t think he’s ever enjoyed a morning more. 

* * *

Joe is the best of men, Nicky is absolutely sure. 

He knew very quickly that Joe was wonderful. He’s lovely, and talented, and kind, and any number of delightful things, and Nicky knew them all from the earliest days of their relationship, but he knows he’s really and truly the best the night before Nile’s birthday. 

Nicky loves Nile like a sister. He actually has a sister, that’s how he knows what it feels like. He would die for Nile. And when he realises at the end of possibly the longest day of his working life that he still hasn’t decorated the biscuits he promised her for her birthday, he thinks he actually might. 

Nile gave him her mother’s sugar cookie recipe a year into their friendship and ever since then he’s made them for her on her birthday every single year. Every year he ices them as fancily as he can, and every year she kisses his cheek and tells him it’s her favourite gift. To keep the icing glossy and nice, he always ices them the night before. Normally, he’s organised enough that he barely even notices the time crunch. 

This year, he’s a junior architect in a new firm right in the middle of a major project for possibly the rudest human being Nicky has ever met, and he has more grunt-work to do than he could ever have imagined. He’s supposed to be going back to Joe’s after work. He made the biscuits there in Joe’s vastly superior kitchen, and he was going to decorate them after he made them both dinner, and possibly made out with Joe for an hour or so. Now, it’s 8pm and he’s still working with no end in sight. Nicky feels a sigh build at the very bottom of his lungs, and suppresses it as viciously as he can. Eventually, this will be worth it. 

He gets to Joe’s at 10pm and lets himself in with the key he’s only had for a week now. He hopes Joe isn’t annoyed at waiting for him for so long. He also hopes he ordered something in for his dinner, and didn’t try and cook something. Lastly, as he kicks his shoes off and drops his bag by the front door, he hopes Joe forgives him for having to sit for the rest of the night individually icing two dozen biscuits in some complex and interesting fashion for someone Joe hasn’t even met yet. 

There’s a light on in the kitchen, and Nicky can hear music playing. He can’t smell anything burning though, so hopefully Joe’s just got lost in his sketchbook for a while. He doesn’t deserve it, he hasn’t texted Joe since 6pm, but he still finds a little bit of hope that Joe might have kept some food for him. He’s thinking more about eating than anything else when he steps through the kitchen door and freezes in place. 

Joe looks up and smiles at him as soon as he walks in. He has a streak of something purple across his cheekbone, he’s wearing his loosest, comfiest jumper, and he looks like every soft fantasy Nicky’s ever entertained in his life. 

He is also holding a piping bag full of which Nicky truly hopes is royal icing above one of his biscuits. He sets it aside as Nicky stares at him, and leans back from the breakfast bar to open his arms wide in Nicky’s direction.

‘You look completely beat, _habibi,_ ’ he says, ‘There’s pizza in the fridge for you, if you’re hungry.’ 

Nicky collapses into Joe’s arms so heavily that Joe makes a little _oof_ noise and has to grab the back of his stool to keep them both upright.

‘ _Ti amo_.’

Joe kisses the side of his head and rocks him from side to side in the warmest hug imaginable. Nicky feels something tense and awful in his chest relax at last, and his whole body follows after. When Joe lets him go, he grabs the pizza from the fridge and sits as close to Joe as he possibly can while he eats it cold. Joe grins at him, and knocks his ankle with his own. 

Comfort achieved, food in his mouth, Nicky finally lets himself look at what Joe’s doing with his biscuits. 

He has to set the pizza down so he can pull the platter of decorated biscuits closer to him. 

They’re _stunning_. Joe’s almost finished, he’s on the last biscuit from the looks of it, and Nicky is in awe. Some of them are jewel tones with white on top like impossibly delicate lace. Others are covered in watercolour flowers. All of them are beautiful.

Joe looks oddly nervous when Nicky finally drags his eyes away from the biscuits. Before Nicky can say anything, Joe starts to speak. 

‘I promise I followed the instructions on the icing sugar _and_ on the food colouring to the letter,’ he says, speaking quicker than Nicky has ever heard him. ‘I also tasted it all as I went and I tested every batch on baking paper before I put it anywhere near your biscuits. I just knew how important these were to you, and I thought you might be too tired when you got home to ice them, and I didn’t want you to be upset.’ 

Joe’s gripping Nicky’s hands now, looking pleadingly into his eyes. Nicky lets go of his hands in favour of cupping his cheeks. He leans in close and presses his forehead against Joe’s. 

‘You, Yusuf, are the best, most wonderful man I have ever known. I love you, _tesoro_.’ 

Joe kisses him, quick and soft, before resting their foreheads together again. 

‘Eat your pizza, my heart. I’ll finish this one and then we can go watch a movie in bed, yes?’ 

‘Yes.’

Nicky can’t contain his smile, and to be honest, he doesn’t even try. He grins and nods and kisses Joe one more time before he settles back into his seat and picks his pizza up again. Joe winks at him and picks the piping bag back up. The kitchen is warm and quiet, all soft music and the smell of sugar. 

* * *

Nicky leaves Joe warm and soft and fast asleep in bed the night of their first anniversary, and slips back downstairs to tidy up the kitchen. He feels so light in his soul he almost worries he could float away with it, and not even the sight of congealed white sauce on the tile floor can bring him down. 

He scrapes the ragu out of the saucepan as best he can, and as he sets baking soda and water to boil in it he can’t help but think of Joe, trying his hardest to make a meal for them. Admittedly it would have been nice if he’d used a recipe at least, and not the half remembered pattern of Nicky cooking from memory, but if there was ever an _‘it’s the thought that counts’_ situation, this is it. 

Nicky’s always taken care of himself. His _nonna_ was a saint, but she was frail, and he looked after her as much as he could. He knew everyone in Italy it felt, but he wouldn’t have called many of them friends. When he came to Glasgow to study, he expected to carry on the same way. He made a few friends, but mostly existed on his own. 

Now, he has Joe. Joe, who knew he couldn’t take their anniversary off, had been absolutely fine with postponing their celebration til the weekend, and had still gone out of his way to try and make it special for Nicky. Joe, who does everything he can to take care of Nicky without ever once asking for anything in return. Joe, whom he loves. Even chipping béchamel off the floor can’t dampen his mood. 

‘ _Nicolòòòò,_ ’ groans Joe from the doorway. He’s wearing Nicky’s jumper and a very flattering pair of boxer-briefs, and the wildest bedhead Nicky’s seen in a while. Nicky wants to see him like this for the rest of his life. 

Joe drags his feet when he’s tired, and it takes him a beat longer to reach Nicky than it normally would. In that beat, Nicky processes his realisation, comes to terms with it, and starts to plan exactly what kind of ring he’s going to buy for Joe. By the time Joe’s in his arms, he’s halfway to planning their future. He thinks Mr. Nicolò al-Kaysani has a nice ring to it, but maybe Joe will want to be Mr. Yusuf 'Joe' al-Kaysani-di Genova. It would make him laugh to have a name so long it won’t fit on a shipping label.

It’s only been a year, but he doesn’t think Joe will say no. 

**Author's Note:**

> Why do they live in Glasgow? Because I said so. Glasgow's great. 
> 
> I'd love to know what you think - a kudos or comment would make my day if you've got the spoons <3
> 
> Catch me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/raedear_writes) and [tumblr](https://raedear.tumblr.com)


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